Fabricated Humanity
by TurbulenceAhead
Summary: Marla McGivers spent far too many hours amidst busy nothings and practically lunged when an offer to work for Section 31 fell into her lap. Initially blinded by her determination to progress her career and the desire to make a difference, Marla's suspicions begin to manifest with each tempestuous encounter with a fellow officer, John Harrison . AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters and plot. _

_Rated T: For language and dark themes_

* * *

_"__Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested" ~ Queen Elizabeth I _

**_Preface_**

Your mission is as follows: Drive twenty minutes west of Hartford CT. After exactly 20 minutes look to your left. Go down the nameless dirt road. Just about another five minute drive or so, passed the thriving pines and overgrown fields of brown grass, you will find a country house. The historical house is masterfully built with lovely chocolate colored wood, and mint green painted front door and windowsills. Each window is neighbor to a flower bed, and come spring you might be lucky enough to see the vibrant little wildflowers that have chosen this as their home.

Upon entering the house through the mint front door, the facade of charm and comfort will dissipate.

You will inevitably feel the burden of ghosts.

This is not your misfortune but that of the house, which will be relatively clean and cozy with evidence of repeated renovations. Renovations; desperate attempts to scrub the house raw until it could be rid of the lingering dwellers of the past. You will walk through the living room and into the over used kitchen with the disconcerting presence upon your back. But you must move forward still, into the library.

This is your destination.

This small room will be blanketed in sunlight with a soundtrack of melodic birds from just outside and a perfume of dust and aging leather.

Books.

These are your mission. Well, one of them is.

There will be many. Each of the four walls that surround you is floor to ceiling with bookcases so plump with the old books that I am certain you will worry that the cases will give way to a tidal wave at any moment.

I would apologize for the disarray, however I am not the one responsible for the mess. There are just too many books. But only one is your mission.

Which to possibly choose?

You will know. You will find it.

For this book is different from the rest.

A simple journal amidst grand classics, encyclopedias, and law books.

Take in the sight of it and be gentle. It is the last of it's publication after all.

This book holds a secret within it's beloved pages. A name. A story.

Now the story. Memorize it, breathe is in as if it is your last chance for oxygen before a watery plunge.

Turn once you are finished, walk back through the kitchen, into the living room where embers are still glowing blood orange in the fire place. I hope you know how to stoke a fire.

Feed the secret to the growing flames. See to it that the pages burn but do not dwell to watch them for long.

Leave swiftly without a second glance, for a ghost might look back at you, in judgement of your actions.

It would be too difficult to explain your orders to a hapless ghost.

I will spare you that unpleasantness.

**Act One: Part 1**

Darcy Carnegie leaned against the granite wall, arms crossed and electronic cigarette hanging out of her pursed lips. Darcy's platinum blonde hair, course from countless dyeing 'rejuvenations', was tied in a tired bun. The drooping hair style accompanied her beige pant suit, which was wrinkled from over use and lack of ironing. She looked as disheveled as she sounded. "I can't believe he's putting me through this." Darcy's perfectly reformed nostrils flared as she took another puff before thrusting her turquoise cigarette toward the redheaded woman beside her. "Want one?"

"Just keep the profanity in the hallway." The companion ignored the offer of the ghastly instrument of vapor.

"I know that Marla," spat Darcy after a few seconds of puffing away. Marla winced only slightly at her sister's days of embracing sisterhood had long passed. Their mother once went through a phase of dressing them identically despite their awkward height difference. At the time it seemed only natural to experience everything as if they were one individual. Now the idea seemed utterly preposterous.

There was a silence between the women. A minute? Two? Five even? Neither could keep the time. Such an endeavor could not be accomplished in such a place, or with such an emanate fate creeping ever toward them. "Do you think I'm a bad mother?" The elder sister finally broke the silence, unable to bare her own thoughts any longer.

"Please stop letting them into your head." Marla closed her eyes, pure exasperation clouding her own head. "We've talked about this."

"Why won't you just answer the question?"

"I'm too tired for this Darcy-"

"Is there a reason you're not answering?" Darcy put her cigarette down, allowing a tiny white cloud to blast into her sister's face.

"I'm tired."

"So you agree with Jaimie." Darcy's dark green eyes darted across Marla's exhausted expression. Marla sighed softly deciding she had no other choice but to tread lightly. It took a second or two but Marla was indeed able to muster up the strength to give her sister a simple smile.

"No. I don't think you're a '_bad_ mother'." Marla watched cautiously as the older woman computed her response and looked away with satisfaction. Marla frowned once more, pushed her thick auburn locks behind her ears and braced herself. "However this is not my decision."

"But at least I know that your statement was a good one." Darcy shook her shoulders, puffing out her well endowed chest like a robin in spring.

"You know I can't talk about that."

"I wish you would just have the balls to tell me." Darcy chuckled at herself, bringing Marla to stone silence.

Marla remained mute as they were finally approached by someone other than their own thoughts. She remained silent as they received the verdict.

Marla was silent as she dragged her sister out of the building, hands wrapped tightly to Darcy's waist as her insults mixed with that of her ex-husband Jaime's in toxic harmony.

A familiar yet unwelcome tingle spread beneath Marla's fair freckled skin as she sat beside her wailing sister in the cab. The walls were starting to crumble. Darcy sang out cries of profanity Marla had never even heard. Marla mentally sang her own song of curses as she cast her hazel eyes on the snowy road.

She cursed the sluggish traffic, her older sister's foolishly embarrassing behavior, and herself for getting involved in the first place.

Marla was still silent when they reached Darcy's lavish Brooklyn apartment complex. By then Darcy's voice was gravely and Marla's ears rang. The apartment had not changed in the slightest since their departure that morning, yet the rooms felt entirely unfamiliar to Marla. She watched as her older sister walked in mock pride to the fireplace mantel and took three picture frames from the ledge.

"I don't want these," Darcy said icily, thrusting the pictures into Marla's hands. "Well," Darcy straightened herself, looming over her sister in the heels she'd chosen for the day. She looked as though she was itching to say something, but nothing else was said between them. Darcy disappeared into her room and slammed the door, leaving Marla alone with her knotted thoughts and stomach.

Marla sat on the edge of one of many uncomfortable pastel leather chairs in the living area. Once she had walked through the threshold of this very apartment with wide eyes and sang praise for her sister's modern, pristine, orderly taste. These rooms, once envied and admired for their glossy minimalism, now felt hollow and cold. This was as doomed of sustaining life as the permafrost incrusted tundra. Marla felt the tingle once more as her discomfort grew. No wonder her precious niece never felt quite welcome here.

Marla looked over her shoulder to ensure her solitude before pulling her wallet from her satchel and began her task of removing the pictures from their frames. Each picture was a beautiful snapshot of the child in question, of lovely Rosie. She tucked the snapshots carefully into the folds of her bag leaving the frames, the empty shells, on the side table.

Rosie, with her sweet smile and charming intuition that surpassed her four years of life. Her little smile flashed into Marla's mind and dissipated. Such a kind little creature did not belong in this place. Not even in thought. Not even in a picture frame.

Marla was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get as far away as humanly possible.

But Darcy. Oh her damn sister.

She ground her teeth and slid her sweaty palms along her thighs, immobilized by the prickling sensations that washed over her as wave after wave of guilt enveloped her. Every truth she'd uttered in the court house was a dagger in the back of her sister. Darcy couldn't know.

Sleep was her only escape, but insomnia was a sworn enemy. Long had she battled the swirling depths of the night, rarely arising victorious.

Marla slid back against the solid chair, kicked off her boots, and brought her legs into a crossed position. After a moment of rummaging through her satchel she pulled out her PADD. She ran her tongue across her teeth at the sight of how low her battery was, but typed in her code just the same. She was desperate to find something, anything, that could lead her mind on a hiatus from the current situation.

Flashing red at the very top of her inbox was her distraction. A distraction so odd in origin and unfathomable in subject that Marla found herself laughing for the first time that day.

* * *

Wisterias. Lovely soft lavender blooms cascaded in abundance from the rafters above. A week had passed since her departure from the bustle and drama of New York. One week since she had received the audacious message. Now she sat in the largest waiting room she had ever seen, devoid of any color other than sky blue. The walls, some 12 feet high, the stone floor, the cluster of tweed furniture, even the view from the rectangle sky light above, all identical pale blue.

All but the wisterias.

Echoing footsteps brought Marla's attention to the hallway just across from her. She stood at attention when the footsteps presented their owner. She straightened her back, steadying herself in attempt to mask her jetlag. The female before her looked less than thrilled to be there. A Commander, the woman was about a half foot taller than Marla with her brunette hair cut into a perfect pixie style. She could not have been more than 30 but her tense stance and practically invasive gaze gave her a power presence rarely seen in someone so young.

"Dr. McGivers?" The Commander said in a distinctly stern tone.

"Yes," she responded all too quickly.

"Follow me." Twisting on her heel the Commander made her way out of the waiting room at an alarming speed. Marla did as she was told. As she followed the Commander down the hallway, she did her best to straighten her gray uniform. In honesty she had always felt utterly ridiculous in her dress uniform. Her red ringlets bounced free from her bun and into her face as she tried to keep up with the taller woman's strides. Just as quickly as they began their journey, the Commander halted, causing Marla to stumble to avoid collision.

"Wait here." Just as mechanically as she gave orders, the Commander took out her PADD, typed for a few seconds, and approached the door to the right of them. With an echoing click the Commander pushed against the door, entered the room, and allowed the door to close slowly with Marla craning her neck for a curious glance into the mystery room. Nothing but blue. The Commander emerged after a beat and this time left the door open for Marla to enter.

Marla was careful to enter with staged confidence, for her nerves were taking the helm. An office; identical in size and color as the waiting room, only distinguishing itself with a massive gray desk and chair and a painting of the Federation Symbol hung on the back wall.

"Dr. McGivers," a male voice announced Marla before she could even take a single breath. "Come sit down."

Marla stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the man before her. She turned to exchange a glance with the Commander, but the door had already closed, leaving her alone with her gaping jaw, fluttering heart beat, and highest ranking officer. Colonel Marcus sat at his enormous desk, fiddling with files and never taking his eyes to meet hers. She followed orders and sat across from him and waited in the silence as he finished his reading.

"Ha!" The outburst caused Marla to jump. Marcus brought his lips to a grand grin and lounged back in his chair to look at her. She smiled uncomfortably and watched him as he brought both of his index fingers to point at his desk. He cleared his throat and read from the file "'My three years in the Terra Federation Archives taught me a great deal about myself and the person that I strive to be.'" _Dammit, _she thought in frozen horror. He rolled his eyes but continued. "'I've worked with some talented intellectuals…'blah blah blah-oh hear we go'…Despite all I might have learned here I can not help but feel that I have waisted three years of my time, in a prison where my coworkers are ever parasitic, my brain unstimulated to the point of feeling on the brink of insanity, and if I had the iron fist to do so I'd taser myself awake from this nightmare and ride a ship into a collapsing star.'" He stopped, nodded his head as if in agreement, and pointed to the reading. "Got anything else to say?"

"I…" Marla could hardly breathe, in fact she wasn't and her hands shook despite her tightly clenched fists."I think…some of that…See my-"

"Oh relax Doctor." Marcus smiled and brought himself to the edge of his seat. "Its nice to know someone can be honest in their yearly log."

"I didn't know anyone actually read those."

"No one does. Unless an occasion presents itself." He swiped the file away and creased his brow. "You wrote your dissertation on the battle strategies of the 5 greatest military leaders in earth history." Not entirely sure of how to respond Marla chuckled nervously and nodded in relief, still rattled from the introduction and shift in subject.

"Yes I did sir."

"To which you received wide spread criticism in the intellectual community." Marcus brought his right hand to his chin, a curious expression on his face. "Why do you think it was so badly received?"

"Well," Marla paused to collect herself. "Irrelevancy was the common criticism."

"Irrelevancy?" Marcus crooked a brow.

"Earth has been at peace for over 100 years sir. Despite the ever present importance for historical comprehension, what I chose to study was not considered essential to that understanding." Marla set her jaw. "The overall opinion is that what I specialize in is no longer of modern concern."

"Do you agree with that opinion." The question threw her. Within the time of a blink Marcus' relaxed stance had melted. He was studying her now, leaving her feeling exposed. He was looking for an answer. Which one?

"No." Her voice was still and a wave of relief ran over her as Marcus gave another smile. "History isn't a straight line. Destruction and creation are fundamental rules of the universe."

"We've already seen it happen."

"Excuse me?"

"Destruction." The Colonel moved his fingers across the table, allowing a hologram of a planet to float in between them. Marla looked to the planet and then back to Marcus. Neither needed to say it's name.

Vulcan.

"History will repeat itself, or so they like to say?" He searched her face for a response.

"To believe that conflict is nonexistent is ideal, but not necessarily realistic."

"Ah," Marcus grinned broadly and shook a finger to allow the extinct planet to disappear. "I knew I would like you." Marcus rose from his chair, waving a hand to keep her seated, and moved a small pile of documents from his screen to the PADD before her. "Doctor McGivers, I would like to offer you a position. See, I am in need of a specialist, a historian, a strategist. Someone who can understand the underbelly of our expanding universe." Marcus pointed to the PADD in front of her and continued before she could interject. "Read the papers. Sleep on it if you'd like. But I can assure you," his voice inflected to almost pompous proportion. "the position will be rewarding, great pay, benefits, the works. Best of all, you won't have to worry about under stimulation or having to taser yourself into a black hole."

Marla stared down at the PADD. "I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified for this line of work."

"No one is 'qualified' when they are offered a position that doesn't exist."

"I uh. I really don't understand sir." Marla kept her eyes on the PADD, scanning the information with jumbled understanding.

"I'm not going to force you into anything you haven't read over first." Her commanding officer bowed his head in respect. "You read over that now and I'll give you, oh lets say 5 days to think about it."

"Thank you," was the only response that felt proper.

"This is a wonderful opportunity Doctor McGivers and I think it will be the beginning of a truly seamless career. Just gotta take that plunge sometimes." She had no response as he gestured to the PADD and left her to read the offer.

She didn't need 5 days to think it over. No good nights sleep could change her immediate instinct.

She signed the dotted line without a single speck of remorse or reservation.

* * *

_Authors Note: Welcome! Here lies the tale of one Dr. Marla McGivers. This story will live within a slight AU, that will become more prevalent as the plot progresses. I'm a lover of OST, TNG, and the reboot and wanted to put my own twist on the universe. All reviews and constructive criticism welcomed._


	2. Chapter 2

_"__Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings." ~ Jane Austen_

Act one: Part 2

Many a child has dreamt of the grand adventures of Star Fleet. Journeys that transcend every law humans' have thought unquestionable, that brought only the best officers to the edge of the universe and shattered their very reality of existence. Humans' had long played an essential role in the extraordinary missions of the Federation.

Marla was on a mission. One so imperative to the Federation, she alone remained responsible. Tongue pushing against the top of her mouth, Marla pressed the last of the buttons on the contraption. The tone that emerged from the machine was grander than any orchestral masterpiece to her ears, the aroma a heavenly cologne of the gods, and the steam a warm beckon. "Hello my love."

"Again?" Marla's companion swung her robust legs upon the table and riffled through the pages of her magazine. Marla brought her hand curtly between herself and her companion as she lifted her massive blue and black mug from the machine. She brought her mug to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a sip of reverie. "Oh for God's sakes!"

"Coffee. Then speak Greta." Marla instructed and sat down across from her co-worker. Greta's round cheeks rippled the skin beneath her seamlessly outlined lined eyes.

"You'll drag that damn machine with you into the cosmos." Greta's singsong Yorkshire accent held little magic. Each word teetered between snark and mirth, proving more laborious than whimsical that morning. Marla closed to eyes and continued to inhale her divine concoction.

"If you think I'd subject myself to replicator coffee…."

"Creature comforts aren't exactly the Federation's number one priority."

"If they don't want me to massacre everyone in my wake they better sort that out." She grinned as Greta's deep chuckle soothed the stale morning air. "What's new this week?" Marla asked gesturing to the fashion magazine, to which she received an incredulous look from Greta. "What?"

"You couldn't care less."

"No but you'll tell me anyway." The historian set her coffee against her torso, with one hand to steady it, and mirrored Greta with both legs atop the table, head tilted back. "Bring it on."

"Professional attire: Dress suits out. Jump suits in."

Marla tilted her head to the side, her red curls threatening to break free from her relaxed braid. "Well," she rolled her eyes and gestured to the two of them, both clad in generic black uniforms. "Black is always in."

"Not always." Greta sighed and tugged at her uniform smugly. "They say it masks your true form."

"The ominous 'they'!"

"How many hours are you working this week?" They'd been sitting in comfortable isolation for a few minutes. The veer from serenity caught Marla off guard. She twisted in her seat, bringing her feet back to the ground and looking to the newcomer beside them.

"Kassim! You're looking very dashing today!" Greta ignored Kassim's question and twisted her finger toward the well groomed man before them. Kassim, one of the rare attractive members of Section 31. 34 years old. Tall, dark, handsome, and by all the fates be damn- entirely married. Going on 7 happy years. The Lebanese Doctor was famous among his constituents for his esteemed talent to remain wholly pleasant. No matter the day or circumstance.

"Right back at you Greta," Kassim complimented through his usual grin.

"I made a pot of coffee."

"Why do you think I'm here? I could smell it from the lab." Kassim tapped the steaming pot and pressed his hand to his heart with gratitude. "You are a godsend."

"Hardly. Merely a crazed caffeine addict." Marla pulled another chair to their usual table. The three sat in a perfect triangle, each eager to calm themselves with each others company.

"Almost 55 hours by the way," Marla finally answered Kassim's question.

"I'm just barely below 60," admitted Kassim with a faraway glaze over his eyes.

"Same here." Greta placed her magazine to the table with a pathetic thud "I'm starting to have nightmares you know."

"Oh God, about what?"

"Equations!" Greta threw her arms in the air aggressively. "Some people, normal people have nightmares of I don't know," she cocked her head curtly in thought. "Drownin. Fallin off a cliff. Getting ripped to shreds by a massive mutated zombie dog. Breakin their mum's favorite vase. What do I get?" She pointed to her temple. "Bloody algorithms."

"It'll get better." Marla brought her gaze back to her mug, only barely catching the sight of Greta's exasperated expression and Kassim's bubbling chest as he laughed.

"That's hilarious." Shot Greta.

Greta continued on about the 'invigorating' styles that were at that moment shocking the world. Marla remained dormant on the surface of the conversation, dropping a nod or "really?" or "amazing" when it felt appropriate. All were aware the discussion was one sided however the morning company was essential to their flattened sanity. The three had had this routine for three months straight. Sit. Coffee. Sort of have a conversation. Voila! Recharged for the day ahead.

The three parted ways without a proper farewell. Such formalities were impractical. Working in lower ranks of the most top secret feature of the Federation had lost it's mystery. Excitement had cleared the way for more comforting never questioned tomorrow. Same place, same time, everyday.

—

Marla took her seat in her office, dubbed 'the converted closet from hell' by Greta. Her monolithic collection of hard copy files were piled high against the beige walls, having gotten nowhere when she'd repeatedly asked for shelves. The chair the Federation had so generously provided was, to be kind, lackluster and could swivel just barely five inches from the back wall. She wheeled herself under the table with a groan. Whether the desk was too tall or her chair too short, Marla spent many an evening popping pills for her strained shoulders as she typed continuously.

Section 31 was infamous among those 'fortunate' enough to work there, for the lack of natural lighting. Hours of sitting in a closet of an office with piles of research on the brink of suffocation with a buzzing yellow light overhead could drive anyone mad. Marla had long since busted the damn light and brought in her own trusty green lamp to keep her from complete darkness.

Despite the creeping hours and swift deadlines, she saw nothing especially extraordinary with the work she produced. Outline after outline of culture she formed, each one testing her to dial it back a notch. Her zeal for the subject matter threatened to bleed from the explanations and theories she conceived in her outlines.

Marla slid her left hand across the desk, activating the computer system she still wasn't entirely compatible with. Each week there was a different culture to superficially investigate. Though she felt shadily restrained by

the casual information, her deadline seemed to always be fast approaching. Like a locomotive chugging about through a wintery NorEaster, Marla dragged herself from the most interesting facets and ransacked for the particular ingredients that might prove the cultures' 'threatening'"

On any other wednesday, Marla would be devoid of any human interaction until her next break 4 hours in. With the rhythmic tapping of her fingers across her fiberglass keyboard as her only break of silence and the dimness of the closet-reincarnated-as-office, the sudden knock on her door was most unwelcome for her caffeinated nerves.

"Sorry McGivers." The commanding officer in the doorway apologized bowing his dark bald head respectfully.

"Captain Belfare." Marla thrust her body forward out of her seat, causing the chair to knock against the back wall and topple to the tile floor. Belfare was far too concentrated on squinting through the bleakness of the room to notice the poor show.

"Jesus are you trying to go blind?" He quickly turned on a heel and searched the wall for a light switch.

"It's broken sir."

"Well that's annoying." The Captain coughed into his fist and looked back to Marla.

"I'd offer you a seat but…" Her jumpiness settled as Belfare shook his head with a grin and coughed again.

"I'd rather stand anyway." Belfare crossed his arms and attempted to clear his throat. He coughed again, more violently this time. "It's like drowning in your own damn spit," he admitted noticing her concerned gaze.

"Lovely image." Marla reached into her desk drawer for a handful of napkins.

"Isn't it just?" Belfare motioned an excuse before proceeding to cough into the napkin painfully. "Anyway." He tossed the soiled napkins into the trash shoot and pressed his hands together. "You doing okay?"

Marla paused. "Um. Yes?"

"Formalities," whispered Belfare with a toothy grin despite his discomfort. Marla nodded, still unsure of what to do with herself stuck behind her desk. She took the liberty of leaning against the wall, despite the presence of her commanding officer. To her relief, Belfare showed no sign of insult.

"What about you?"

"I just hacked a lung in your office, what do you think?"

"That you might be as over worked as I am?" Marla looked her captain over, genuinely concerned. 62 years old Captain Richard Belfare was generously handsome. Complexion the color of smooth ebony, beard of silver and ebony, and a substantial muscular frame. What Belfare lacked in youth he made up for in experience. Experience that cost him his original lungs and the ability to spend more than five minutes without 'drowning in his own spit'. Rumors of his use of a bionic bronchial tube had swirled about for weeks. More often than not Belfare was the sure tell mastermind behind them all. If people want to talk about you, give them something impressive.

"Oh I'm fine." He gave a charming wink. "I'm here on specific orders Dr. McGivers." Her Captain leaned against the doorframe remaining ever casual. "The deadline for your report on Klingon weapon history, or whatever the hell it was you were tinkering with, it's being pushed back."

"Pushed back?" Marla craned out her neck.

"What? Are you almost done?"

"No I'm just surprised. Usually the Colonel wants the work in by the end of the week."

"Well you can rest easy cause you're not alone on this one. Marcus has other priorities for us and the team."

"An away mission?"

"No no you're staying earth bound. Basically I've been asked to put together a list of those under my command I deem worthy of talent, trust, all that upstanding citizen BS."

"Doing what exactly?"

"No more exclusively individual work. You will be working with a team of experienced officers from various expertise." Belfare leaned back and picked the callus on his thumb absentmindedly. "Honestly I didn't read the entire message."

"With all due respect sir, I've literally accomplished nothing. I mean yes I do my work but its nothing special. Anyone could do these outlines."

"Apparently someone is impressed."

"Are you giving me a promotion?" Marla wished she could smack the silly grin off her face as it widened to embarrassing proportions.

"He wants me to move you to level 3 McGivers. The real deal."

"I work for Section 31. I thought this was the real deal?" The laugh that erupted from her superior was hearty but painful, causing him to go into a relapse of hacking.

"Do you want a medal or something?"

"A window would be nice." There was a pause. Something flickered across Belfare's gaze, but it came and went so quickly she had no time to decipher it.

"I'll see what I can do."


	3. Chapter 3

_"__Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas." ~ Marie Curie _

**Act One: Part 3 **

Within the darkest corners of StarFleet's elite Section 31, lay a most generic conference room. 12 seats, each with a PADD and glass of water in front of them, were placed with precision along the oval chestnut table. Marla was early as usual, a curse she was not alone in. Four fellow officers glanced in her direction as she entered before continuing to sit in anxious silence. Marla took her place, keeping a flat smile across her face in discomfort. With each newcomer Marla's hands shook more severely forcing her to tuck them underneath the table.

A sense of metamorphosis overcame Marla the instant Greta and Kassim entered the room. Marla blessed the floor her friends walked on. She could have kissed the fates that brought them all together in such a circumstance.

"Well hey." Greta's melodic voice became the invitation for zen, causing a collective sigh around the table. Marla's buoyant friend swung the seat beside her and plopped herself down without a sliver of grace.

"Thought we'd all just go down together," Kassim smiled to himself. "All for one-"

"Don't," warned Greta. "Never do that again. Ever."

"So glad you're here." Marla watched carefully as Greta gave a look and titled her head to glance under the table. Greta clicked her tongue and reached into the depths of her enormous purse. With a distinguished _pop_ Greta tilted a tiny bottle of god knows what into her glass. "Greta!" Marla's hushed warning was entirely in vein as Greta nodded and tipped the bottle into Marla's glass as well. "You'll get me terminated."

"Wha'?" Greta shrugged her innocence.

"Greta…" Marla chided but smiled in appreciation.

"Want some?" Greta gestured to Kassim, who shook his head fervently and pretended to be heavily engrossed in his personal PADD documents. Or perhaps he really was interested in his documents. Who could tell on such a nerve wracking day.

"I'm really not even supposed to be here." Greta gave a small grunt and tapped the side of her glass.

"Don't say that Greta," said Kassim in sweet passing.

"No but seriously. I'm replacing Elle Granier…Garner..whatever the hell her name was. Luckily she got knocked up and left for maternity leave."

"You were their second choice?"

"Third actually. Pretty sure Belfare asked Tristan. But his husband died a few weeks back so I don't think he was mentally there."

"Well thats horrible," gapped Marla.

"Bad timing. Nice guy. Better with numbers than with people though."

"Glad you're here just the same." Kassim interjected with a grin. Greta shrugged and took a sip from her drink.

Marla twisted her neck and brought her hand across the painfully stressed muscles. Her eyes flickered across the faces of the others in the room, most of whom sat in light conversation with their neighbor.

As she cracked the other side of her neck her gaze fell to the one still, unengaged individual. She hadn't even noticed him enter the room, for she would have remembered his expression. She would have thought him just as nervous as herself if not for the stern, stoic, intensity painted across his fair face. His gaze, or stare more like, was unwavering. He looked into the center of the table as if it were a malfunctioning looking glass; somewhat disgusted with a hint of contempt.

He was not handsome per say, in fact he was all together rather unusual looking. He had especially long features in the face, dark black hair, and extremely fair skin. His redeeming quality was unmistakably his eyes, the color of glacier water, icey and piercing as his expression.

He was fascinating.

"Right! Good morning." The entire room rattled to their feet upon Cap. Belfare's arrival. Belfare shifted stiffly in his gray dress uniform and tossed his hat onto the table before taking a seat at the head of the table. "Welcome to the next level of hell, my name is Captain Belfare if by some reason we are not yet aquatinted. As I am now your personal commanding officer please feel free to come to me for anything. Unless you're an idiot in which case please don't waste the oxygen or my time." Belfare sighed.

Belfare retained eye contact with each member of his new team as he gave the orientation a focused yet rather exasperated go. Just as his glances remained entirely on his co-workers, the stoney officer across from Marla remained entirely astute. Such a show of extreme concentration was startling. His position was arched, a rigid soldier among the scientists.

Those born with the heart of a soldier were lost to this world. Almost as lost as those who spend their time with paperbacks and archives. They were citizens of a museum and this world never ceased to remind them of their irrelevance.

He glanced up at her. She was immediately embarrassed. Marla brought her eyes to the opposite wall to cover her tracks but the urge to take another look was too strong…her hazel eyes were met with his ice blue, mortification pulsing through her. No more glances to the stoney gentleman. No more.

"I'd like to ask all of you to turn on the PADD's before you and read the logistics ." Belfare paused as he read his own PADD with slight difficulty. "Get to it."

Marla followed orders. Logistics. Yes logistics are good: keep the mind occupied. Marla fiddled with her new files, hardly skimming the information before signing the bottom with the tip of her finger. Near the end of the tabs she was ramming her way through, was entitled "team profiles."

Tilting her PADD in attempt to hide her endeavors, Marla checked to ensure the only eyes on her PADD were her own and plunged into the profiles. 14 neatly fonted names popped up to the left side of the screen with a complete profile scrolling by with the slightest touch of their name. Having entered her personal code, Marla's profile was the first to pop up. She had no interest in reading what the federation had to say about her. She quickly started clicking the names.

Haderer, Elijah: mathematician. Nope. Cameron, Allen: engineer. Nope. Harrison, John: weapons specialist. Bingo.

Commander John Harrison. Premiere weapons specialist of the British Starfleet branch. Commander under Captain Belfare. Nationality: British. Birth: 2224 London, United Kingdom.

The information went on. Information as it might be called, for there was nothing but the same loaded information as in the other profiles. Nothing personal, nothing unnecessarily revealing. In most cases this was wise and Marla chose to leave the subject where it lay. Her fascination was juvenile.

Her friends profiles were no more detailed. Occupation, work history, place of birth, nationality, oh how it went on. Clearly the Federation did not share Belfare's views on camaraderie.

"Loosen up you lot!" Belfare slapped one of his gargantuan hands against the back of one of tense officers, holding a grin across his face. "Now, I have been instructed by the Admiral to prepare you for the long hours ahead. The pages you will find on your PADD explain in flattened detail your mission here in Sector 31. To put it simply, we are the highest level of StarFleet Defense, which you should all wear with honor and the utmost confidentiality. Each individual you see around this table is a vital piece of irreplaceable clockwork. You are not expendable and will need to grow accustom to each others faces. You'll be seeing a lot of each other-"

Belfare paused to cough into his handkerchief. His premiere cough proved a potent one, sending an unmuffled echo through the conference room. "Gah!" Belfare slapped the side of his knee and clinched his white cloth in the air with a mighty fist. His lips gapped open for a mere second before he tilted his head down to check his comm. The Captain let out an elongated sigh and stood."Sign your documents on the PADDs and head off to your offices. I'll check on you individually and we will meet here again in the morning." The group watched as Belfare made his leave, rather dumbfounded by his abrupt exit.

"Well I brought all this for nothing." Marla barely heard Greta over her own anxieties. Her scan of the room following Belfare's departure brought her the hollow satisfaction of seeing the back of Commander Harrison swoop from the room. What an embarrassment.

* * *

Acrylic smudges of reds, golds, and oranges blotched the milky tapestry. Design unknown even to the artist, no end point, no expectations. This scene was a ruthless mess of disorganization and impulse, fueled by a cocktail of fairly expensive red wine and a narrowly avoided anxiety attack. What might have began as a romanticized sunset, now dripped into no more than an outlet for an unmotivated enthusiast. Surely she did not have the talent to be deemed an artist.

Of all the possibilities her night might have held, the ringing of her doorbell was not one of them. Marla scooted from her chaos and balanced her comm, paint brush, and wine glass all in one hand.

"I brought peri peri chicken and its cold but! Hold on!" Marla watched the live view of Greta juggling a bottle of god knows. "Vodka because the chicken is cold and we need something to warm us up."

"One second!"

"Open open!"

Marla grumbled but put her brush back in it's little home on the side of her isle and trapped in the visitor code. Shambles was a nice way of describing her flat. Only two rooms: bedroom/kitchen/sittingroom/painting explosion and a bathroom about the size of a standard hotel room closet. 'Guests' was not in her flat's vocabulary. Despite the jewel tones that made themselves regulars in the little home, their warmth was for their owner alone. Carpets of deep amethyst and emerald, bed spread of burnt orange and powder blue, appliances of another emerald green and creamy turquoise kept the flat in a constant state of autumn.

The high population of empty wine bottles turned flower vases that occupied her tiny excuse of a kitchen were the only signs of spring. Each Shiraz bottle was home to withering flowers. The sun had gone to bed many days ago and remained behind the gray clouds of melancholy ever since. No matter how much love their roommate Marla could give them, the purple and white daisy's seemed to find the Hampstead flat hostile.

Marla tossed her pile of dirty and clean clothes (no time to sort them) into a similar pile in her wardrobe, threw her designated white sheets other her horrendous masterpieces, and almost thought about doing the dishes in her sink.

Greta entered as she always did, like a typhoon.

"This rain!" Greta slammed the box of food on the kitchen counter and brought her arms forward to show Marla the damage. Apart from the freckles of white mist atop her jet black hair, Greta remained in her acceptable appearance.

"Would you like a towel? I think I might be able to find one in the bottom of my sink. I've had a leak down there for weeks."

"You are joking?!" Greta turned and pointed to the sink in awe.

"I was kidding Greta-"

"You have a sink." The fact slipped from her tongue in disbelief. "And a refrigerator?!" Greta went to the appliance and opened and shut the door as if it might magically teleport her to the past. "You're a dinosaur."

"Let me grab you a spare." Marla headed to her bath, uncomfortable without an answer to Greta's comment. She grabbed a sea green hand towel and tossed it to her friend, who was examining the sink with fascination and disgust. "Here." Marla tossed the towel Greta and attacked the take out.

"Anything interesting to you?"

"Hmm?" Marla hummed her confusion through a full mouth. Greta pointed her middle finger to the PADD that lay a few inches from them. "Oh." Marla stopped, debating whether to spill her embarrassing fascination. "No not really," she lied with ease and continued to enjoy the spiced chicken.

"The project is simple, but I'm afraid it's too time consuming." Greta nodded in thanks as Marla poured their drinks. "Mack's been on my case."

"I thought you fired Mack?"

"I didn't have the heart to do it. For whats its worth he's been the most successful nanny," said Greta with a solemn smile. "He adores Aidan. Aidan loves him. I'm not risking a different outcome."

"He was so critical of you though. I'd hate to know Aidan was in an environment like that."

Silence fell softly, leaving the padder of rain against Marla's unwashed windows. "I'll tell you why I keep him." Greta was no softer in her delivery, though there was a softness in her voice. "Mack told me what Aidan's favorite color is last week. Here I was all this time buying green shirts, shoes, bed spreads, curtains, toys. Green everything. His favorite color is purple." Marla kept her eyes on Greta's, unsure of how to respond. "I hate being away from him for so long. Did you know I missed everything? Steps, words, the little developments in his personality."

"I can't say I know the feeling, but I do know you're doing your best." Marla gave her friend a reassuring smile.

"Assure me all you want," Greta snorted. "What are all the great ideas of the century compared to a six year old boy?" Greta let out a low huff. "Look at this sob story! I'm no life of the party tonight!"

"You don't have to be that 24/7 ya know. You can give that to Kassim some of the days." A rumble of laughter erupted from Greta.

"What a time to be alive!" Greta raised her glass, Marla happily obliging. "To being thorns in Belfare's side."

"Here here!"

There was an ease to interacting with Greta. She was buoyant in her professional and personal life, making friendship a seamless transition from the office to the kitchen. Greta came, she laughed, she drank, and she left to sit beside her son's bed as he slept, almost daring him to wake so she might rock him back to sleep. Nothing about Greta was half-assed but there was always priority. Little Aidan. Regularity among her otherworldliness. This was the first Marla had heard of Greta's motherly reservations.

Even so Marla cherished her friendship as one would a family heirloom. She thanked Greta silently each time she left the tiny apartment as if in prayer. Greta always left the room feeling just a bit more livable in her departure.

* * *

_Authors Note: There we have a little introduction of sorts! I know it's slow to start, but I promise good things ahead. Reviews most welcome!_


	4. Chapter 4

_"__A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." ~ Maya Angelou_

The day was unusually toasty for a London summer sending everything from over priced ice cream to the general population into a serious melting puddle. Tiny beads of cool water sweat from Marla's cup of iced coffee. Marla found peace in the heat wave, absorbing the solitude of the deserted grassy Hampstead Heath hills. Most of her colleagues remained deep beneath the earth in Section 31, complaining about the heat while enjoying the well powered cooling system of Starfleet.

While Marla loved spending time in Hyde park, especially on sunny Sunday afternoons, Hampstead Heath felt like her own piece of was something about the Heath that felt less domesticated, wild, and ancient. The grassy hills were all burnt gold in color, clustered on the border of the untamable forests that creaked with centuries old trees, barely allowing room for winding trails amongst the thick emerald ivy.

Marla stretched in the grass, sipping her mid-day pick-me-up java and flipping the pages of the disorganized newspaper.

Every few minutes a heavy breathed jogger would pop by on the nearby path, each receiving a short salute from Marla for their insane dedication. Two women jogged by, their hair tied back into slick pony tails, breasts and muscles toned to perfection, and skin glossy as Italian swim suit models. Their New England American accents rolled toward her like thunder and brought her eyes squarely to the ground. As if they could tell she was 'one of them' just by looking at her. The ladies were gone in seconds, though their chatter was easily heard at least a minute afterward. A grin crept across Marla's face. Glimmers of home were rarely seen, especially on the Heath.

"May I join you?" The chipper voice brought Marla to look just beside her. Owner of the joyous voice was a short plump woman, no younger than 60 something. She possessed the most indomitable smile Marla had ever seen and breasts far exceeding proper proportions, made ever clear by the tight material of her Starfleet uniform. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize you were reading! Would you rather enjoy your paper?" The little woman gestured to the paper in Marla's palms, her own hands gently placed behind her.

"Please," Marla smiled and folded the newspaper back into her satchel, half pleased to have someone to talk to, half disappointed her quiet time had come to a close.

"Good!" Watching the elderly woman hobble to sit on the slanted grassy hill was by all inappropriate accounts, hilarious. With each jiggling movement she made a quick "ooop" sound. The woman first landed on her knees before literally rolling to land firmly on her bum. Marla's hand shot to her mouth involuntarily to keep from giggling. "Now," said the woman, retaining her bright smile. "This is severely comfortable."

"Mhmm," was the only answer Marla could give without loosing her polite composure. "What brings you to the Heath?"

"I live just a swift walk that way," she swung her short arm to the right. "I always spend my lunch here after grabbing a bite at home." The woman cocked her head at Marla. "But I rarely see any other uniformed alone one who doesn't even technically exist."

"Neither do I! I can never convince any of my friends to accompany me."

"Ah." The woman placed her hands atop her bounty breasts as if they were a shelf and kicked her feet out to wiggle them in delight. "You have chosen a fine spot indeed!" She pointed just in front of them. "The Gherkin looks almost microscopic. It almost looks beautiful from up here."

"Only just," teased Marla as she too looked out onto the hazy horizon.

"Yes a fine perch indeed." Both took a moment as a breezed tossed the grass to and fro, tickling their skin lightly. "You have no idea who I am."

"Sorry?" Marla farrowed her brow.

"Oh no love don't worry yourself! Thats one of the reasons I'm here. Thought I'd introduce myself 'above ground'." She accompanied the final words in air quotations and a cheeky wink. Marla stumbled to cover her embarrassment.

"I'm sure I've seen you in the halls." Marla clamped her bottom lip with her teeth and laughed uncomfortably.

"I doubt it. I try to keep to myself when I'm below sea level." The woman stretched out her hand. "Scarlett Montague."

"Marla McGivers."

"Yes I know! Photographic memory you see." She tapped the side of her temple in jest. "Very good to meet you in person Marla."

"You as well. Sorry I'm still learning the team's faces." Marla sighed in relief as Scarlett pat her shoulder in assurance.

"No need to apologize. To be honest it is refreshing not being recognized, as vain as that may sound. One can afford to be brazen at my age." Scarlett pursed her lips and glanced around them before leaning forward to Marla's ear. "I'm famous you know."

"Are you?" Marla whispered back.

"Only professionally. I can hardly stroll through headquarters without being stopped!" Scarlett let out a jolly chuckle sending Marla into a grinning fit. "I stand in the middle of Trafalgar or Piccadilly and not a soul would recognize me." She wagged a finger between them. "Not so when in Section 31. No no."

"May I ask why you're famous?"

"Warp capabilities mostly. Perfecting the algorithms for transwarp beaming recently."

"Ohh," Marla responded a little too enthusiastically.

"You have no idea what that means do you?"

"Nope."

"Never you mind. I know nothing about the days that have past so we are equals in that regard. Now tell me, how are you feeling about the new position?"

"A little…overwhelmed if that's a good term to use?"

"You're at the highest level of intelligence dear. If it was not overwhelming the Federation would be screwed."

"How long have you worked for Starfleet?"

"At the cost of revealing my age: 51 years next September."

"51 years?" Marla coughed in shock and leant forward, practically spilling her coffee everywhere.

"Amazingly so. You know, I'm rubbish with advice dear. All I'll say is that when I arrived at Starfleet I was in search of all the answers. I was determined, vain, and good lord was I ambitious. So strong was my pursuit for the solutions, I lost myself. What I'm trying to get to, in a round about way, don't ever let your search blind you from the reason you came here in the first place. Keep that initial motivation locked deep inside. You'll do just fine." Scarlett clapped her hands to shift conversation. "I insist you attend my anniversary party this September I celebrate every year with homemade fireworks, 2 bottles of the best Cabernet Sauvignon, and this delicious cheese from a French town called Rêve. Translated as-"

"Dream." Marla smiled, rather taken by the whimsical older lady.

"Exactly," exclaimed Scarlett as she smiled widely. "I must say I'm impressed."

"If one wishes to perfect one's understanding of Napoleon and the Parisian monarchy one must understand the language."

"Trés bien indeed!"

"Merci," Marla hummed to herself. "Actually I'm a bit of a cheat. My father is a linguistics professor at Princeton. I had no choice but to be fluent in Latin and Greek before I learned to ride a bike."

"It is healthy to instill a kind of classical teaching in children while they are young. Even if the language is many centuries dead. I have three grandsons, all struggling with their Greek at College. I myself was never enticed by language." Scarlett poked Marla on the arm lightly. "Perhaps you could tutor them."

"I'm afraid my Greek is well out of practice, but I would be happy to brush up on it for them." Marla tossed her loose curls behind an ear. "Languages are a bit trickier than riding a bike. The words never leave your brain, but you have to practice before jumping in completely."

"Did you ever dabble in zenolinguistics?" Scarlett's smile vanished as she watched a shadow drift over Marla's expression. Marla clenched her lips together but remained polite in her short response.

"I dabbled."

"You needn't explain dear." Scarlett shook her head, her short gray curls bouncing. "History is your playground. But as an old woman I think it is my job to tell you to tread lightly. Some shards of the past remain out of the history books for a reason. Swim out too far and the undercurrent is may prove overwhelming." Scarlett rocked back on her hips and looked down at her wristwatch. "Well fiddles-wick we only have 10 minutes."

"The tube gets you there in 2. That is to say if the tourists' haven't clogged Holburn station."

"Live in this city for 70 years and you will loose all hope in the reliability of public transport." Scarlett rolled back to her feet. "Come dear," she offered her hand. "Back down the rabbit hole."

* * *

Section 31 was by all accounts, a brave new world. Marla had been gifted with a new working space, not entirely an 'office' seeing as that would imply solid walls. Her new space was pristine and slick, with glass sides and automatic door. Her desk and chair were black and white respectively, both comfortable and workable. The space did it's job, just as it did for the other officers with identical rooms beside her. Marla convinced herself that she would grow accustomed to the fact that she could wave to practically all of her coworkers without leaving her seat. There was no privacy here, a provoking seeing as all who worked there were the top of Starfleet privacy.

It had been an hour since her parting with Scarlett, yet the bumbling woman lay heavy on Marla's mind.

What had her motivation been? To change something? To understand something? To be immortalized in the constellations?

Her dreams were muttered by the screams of her deadlines. So much so she could hardly translate them anymore. But she cared little of dreams when the money was rolling in so well. And even with the lack of privacy, being surrounded by likeminded intellects fueled her days with purpose. She was a cog in the clock. Yes a grand clock. God she hated cliche analogies, but it felt painfully accurate. She was top of the totem, protecting Earth. What a terrifying and wondrous thought. The personal end goal would come later when it presented itself.

In her day dreams of self purpose and clock analogies Marla almost missed the blue blinking light at the top of the screen embedded in her desk. She quickly snapped back and tapped the light, bringing up a hologram of a live Belfare.

"I can't see a bloody thing Rusty!" Belfare looked as though he were slouched, his body hunched in a visibly uncomfortable position and his neck straining to see the buttons on the comm in his hand. "Rusty?!"

"Click the blue one Captain," Marla suggested.

"Shut up McGivers." Belfare took the comm and sacked it against his arm rest. He rolled his eyes in relief and tossed the comm to the floor. "Highest quality technology my ass. You surviving the trenches Marla?"

"Surviving is a good word choice sir especially if you consider glass boxes trenches. Which," she gestured around her "I expect is better than where you are currently?"

"I have to hand it to Wellington has really improved their facilities in the last 4 months." He tossed his head to the a beeping noise beside his head. "But these damn machines never pipe down."

"Will you be back soon? The team gets anxious without-"

"Once the drowning subsides McGivers. Working on it as we speak!" He tapped his chest. "Now to business. There was actually a reason why I messaged you."

"And here I thought you just wanted banter."

"I have a husband for that." Belfare smirked and huffed. "Anyway, I need you to go into your inbox for me." He watched her closely as she followed orders. "Open your newest message, should be labeled yellow for urgency. Now listen to me carefully." The two locked eyes and Belfare clenched his jaw slightly. "You know the KR assignment that we talked about the other day?"

"That big assignment in intelligence, yeah I remember."

"Well," Belfare nodded "Thats your waiver."

Marla opened the 78 page document and paused. Written atop each page in bold red ink read CONFIDENTIAL, but it was the contents that was the most disturbing. Marla flipped through the pages, picking up two reoccurring words 'war' and 'Klingon'

"Who else is assigned to this?"

"Just a few others. But you're the forerunner. You have the expertise and the knowledge. You've done enough already to do this entirely on your own in my opinion."

"I thought this was all a team effort at the high level." Marla scrolled through the information, a panic setting in. "I mean what you're asking me to do, the information I have to obtain, the shear-I mean do you realize how difficult it is to become fluent in an art of warfare that has yet to be witnessed first hand by the Federation? I mean no disrespect Captain but this is ridiculous?"

"I personally recommended your service to high command Marla," Belfare whispered to sooth.

"What you're asking me to do-"

"Is confidential. As it reads at the top of each page unless I am know you are the only one in the Section with the credentials to complete it."

"This amount of information is a labyrinth Captain. I know nothing of the technology we would use, of missiles, let alone simple weapons, or starships. I know every single ruler of the Roman Empire, his story and what kind of battle strategies he perfected and maybe even his relationship with his mother, but dont think that automatically makes me the expert on extraterrestrial war. I am entirely unqualified."

He clenched his jaw again and breathed for a moment. "You're wrong McGivers. But if it makes you feel better I'll absorb you into the warfare department."

"Thank you."

Befare strained to reach his comm again. "I did this to myself." He cursed as he finally reached the little device with a groan. "I'll talk to the high command after this and we'll work out the details. You'll work with Harrison starting tomorrow."

"Wait, what?"

"Just make sure the two of you are on the same page and we'll set sail."

"Wait-"

"I expect nothing less of extraordinary from both of you." Belfare tipped his head. "Message me later. Have a good one McGivers."

Marla watched in silence as Belfare's image disappeared and left her alone in her daze. She leaned back in her chair, reeling. Back up she leaned but stopped herself. No. She would keep from searching his profile again. She'd see him tomorrow in person anyway.

"Right." Marla scooted from her desk and headed out of her little glass box in search of yet another cup of coffee.

* * *

_Authors Note: Reviews welcome! _


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